


Solid ground

by livinginthequestion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s10e20 Angel Heart, Wayward Daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthequestion/pseuds/livinginthequestion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after the cab pulled away.  </p><p>For the <a href="http://waywarddaughtersacademy.tumblr.com/">Wayward Daughters.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Solid ground

The cab driver drops Claire outside the Greyhound station in Tulsa. When she first got in the car she was afraid he was going to turn out to be one of those chatty guys who insist on getting you to answer them, and talking was the last thing she felt like doing. She had just enough strength to keep herself from looking back; she knew she'd see her fa- _Castiel_ standing there in the dusty street watching her go like some sad abandoned puppy, and she'd had all she could take for one day. Holding up her end of a boring conversation was not in the cards.

But he hadn't seem to mind her silence. He'd just chatted merrily along, his voice steady and calm, rolling gently like the cornfields passing by. She’d watched the green slipping past the window and let the smooth, easy voice flow over her. By the time they get into the city and to the station she feels a little calmer.

The driver comes to a stop and turns in his seat to give her a smile. “Well, young lady, here we are. Looks like you've still got a good thirty minutes or so before the bus pulls out. You've got time to relax.” He nods encouragingly. She sighs under her breath and manages a little fake smile.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Claire digs into her bag but before she can wrest her wallet out the driver's holding out his hand to stop her.

“Nono, no need. Your uncle, I guess it was? The tall one, he took care of it.” Claire's frowning at him; he grins and digs into his money pouch. “He also said I should take a five-dollar tip and then give you the change.” He's holding out a fistful of twenties, shaking them a little. “Go on, it's fine, I got my money. Take it.”

Claire reaches out a hand slowly – God knows she can use the cash, but she’s a little suspicious. “I – I don't get it – what...”

The driver's smile is gentle. “I think he wanted to make sure you had a little walkin' around money – you know, snacks, some water, dinner in Omaha, whatever you need. You won't get into Sioux Falls until early in the morning, it's a long trip.” He's frowning a little, puzzled at her hesitancy. “They're just trying to help you, hon. It's okay.” He's trying to be reassuring, and finally Claire nods and clutches the bills tightly.

“Well – thanks, mister. I – thank you.” She looks away, gathers up her bag, slides toward the door. She hears the driver getting out of his door and moving around to the trunk. He unloads her duffle and pats her arm awkwardly.

“Okay, you've got your ticket, right?” She nods, mute. “All right. You want me to walk you in? It's no trouble, I can do that.”

Claire shakes her head vigorously and rolls her eyes. “No, god, I can walk by myself. No, thanks.” She's frowning again, hiding her fluster with a dark scowl.

He gives her a slanted grin and laughs a little. “Okay, then. Have a safe trip. Try to relax and enjoy the ride. Oh, and your – uncle?” She rolls her eyes again and gives him a look. “Whoever he is, he wanted me to remind you to call one of them when you get there, so they know you made it safe.”

Claire heaves a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks again.” She's turning away already and heading for the doors, so she doesn't see the driver watching her go, a pinched look on his face.

 

Claire pulls the ticket out of her pocket – Sam had pressed it into her hand and tried his best to look stern and fatherly. _Just take it, Claire, let us help you_. Hard to say no; again, she needed the help, and besides, it was kinda nice to have someone else taking care of things, thinking ahead and making sure she had what she needed. Although a bus ticket and folding money seem like poor substitutes for what she really needs, they’re still good to have, to not have this small thing to worry about on top of the huge ones.

She shakes the thoughts out of her head and steps up to the window. It only takes a minute to check in and get the boarding information; she has time to find the ladies room, stop by the newsstand and pick up a couple bottles of water and a fistful of SlimJims. She glances down at the stack of newspapers, she's thinking about picking one up for the trip but the first story above the fold, with picture, is about the guy found dead in the alley behind Susie's, and two more bodies in an old abandoned warehouse south of town, both stabbed.... She jerks away like she'd touched a hot wire and scurries to the cash register. There's a rack of magazines next to it; she grabs the one on top, unseeing, and pulls her wallet out. She doesn't look up, doesn't speak to the cashier, just pays and snatches up her things and almost runs out into the lobby. She doesn't stop shaking or breathing hard until the announcement for her bus.

 

It's a couple of hours before they roll into Kansas City. Claire spends most of that time looking out the window and pretending there's no one else on the bus with her. She discovered shortly after sitting down that the magazine she grabbed so hastily was last month's copy of Home & Garden. Annoyed, she plugs in her earbuds and leans back, the gentle sounds of Smash Mouth reverberating in her head. It works; the unrelieved monotony outside the window and the relentlessly cheerful music in her ears serves to shut her mind off and make the time pass.

Most of the passengers get off in KC, and very few board, so by covering the seat beside her with her bag and several SlimJim wrappers Claire's successful in keeping the two seats to herself. Somebody across the way left without his People magazine; she slides over and snags it, and as the bus rolls onto I29 she starts flipping through the pages hoping for something even halfway interesting.

Thirty minutes later she tosses it back across the aisle and digs in her bag again. She's pretty sure there's some gum in there, but there's so much other crap she has to start pulling out before she can even get to the bottom. She's muttering to herself and peering into the dim interior of the bag when she gets that sense that someone's watching her. She's had so many creepy, even frightening experiences that follow that feeling that she jerks her head up wildly – to see a little boy, maybe six or seven, standing next to her seats and blinking at her. She scowls, trying to get her heartbeat under control.

“What? What are you lookin' at?”

The little guy blinks again and smiles cheerily. “Hi, I'm Joe. My mom calls me Joey and sometimes my nana calls me Josey, but it's really just Joe. What's your name?”

Now it's Claire doing the blinking, her mouth open a little. Surprised into speech, she says, “I'm, uh, my name's Claire.”

Joe holds out his hand to shake, his eyes sparkling. She stares down at the slightly grubby little hand.

“My mom says you're sposeta shake and then say howdja do.” Claire looks up into his brown eyes and unbends a little, reaches out and takes his hand.

“Howdja do, Joe.” She shakes up and down, and his face splits in a wide grin.

“Howdja do, Claire.” He jiggles up and down a little, obviously pleased with himself. “Are you going to Omaha?”

“Yeah. Well, no, I'm going through Omaha and then to Sioux Falls. Where are you going?”

“Omaha. That's where we live, me and my mom. We went to see my nana in Kansas City. She lives in a great big old house all by herself, but she says she doesn't get lonesome as long as I come to see her sometimes.”

Claire can't help smiling. “That's nice. You like to visit her?”

Joe nods vigorously. “Yeah, her house always smells like cookies. And this time she had a new cat!” He looks at Claire like he's expecting her to be as thrilled as he is, and she grins at him. “Do you live in Sioux Falls?”

Claire has to swallow hard before she answers. “Um, well, I guess I do now. I – I don't have a family anymore, and I'm going to live with a, a friend.” She breaks off, startled to hear herself telling all this to this little boy, but she can't seem to stop now she's started. “She has a daughter who's about my age, I guess they have a nice house, I've never been there.”

Joe's watching her seriously. “Does she have a job? My mom works at the grocery store. Does your friend work?”

“Yeah, she's got kind of a cool job. She's the sheriff.”

“Wow!” Joe gapes at her. “That IS cool! Does she have a gun and everything?”

“Sure, all sheriffs do. I guess she's really good at her job. She's – she's good people.” There's a lump in Claire's throat as she says that, thinking of Sam trying to reassure her that she's going to a good place, everything's going to be all right. For a second Claire has to look away out the window.

When she turns back Joe's looking at her with his head cocked to one side. “Are you sad?” His eyes are solemn and direct.

Claire gives a short nod. “Yeah, I guess so. It's just – it's kinda strange, y'know? Everything's different, I don't know what it's gonna be like there, I don't really know anybody.” Her voice is thin and strained.

To her surprise, Joe leans over and pats her arm. “My mom says sometimes when things get different it's scary at first but it gets better. My mom and me had to move out of our house last year and I got a new school and it was icky for awhile, but now it's really fun. I have some new friends and I like my new house and we're gonna get a cat too. It's really nice now.” He's smiling at her. “Don't worry, it'll be okay.”

Claire has to swallow again, trying to get the lump out of her throat. The last thing she wants to do at this point is start bawling in front of a little kid. She's saved from that fate by the boy's mother, who appears in the aisle next to him.

“Joey, for heaven's sake leave the poor girl alone. I'm sorry, dear, he's a little too friendly for his own good. Hope he wasn't bothering you.”

Claire shakes her head and manages a smile. “Nah, he's fine, he's cheering me up.” She winks at Joe. “Thanks, buddy.” She holds out her hand to him and he shakes it, smiling happily. “So what are we supposed to say when we shake again?”

Joe giggles and bounces on his toes. “We say, it was very nice to meet you. Have a good day!”

Claire smiles into his eyes. “It was very nice to meet you, Joe. I hope you have a great day.”

He hunches his shoulders up, giving her a pleased smile. Claire nods at his mother and the two of them bustle off down the aisle. Claire watches them go and feels her heart squeeze at the sight of them hand in hand, going home together. She looks away out the window again, eyes stinging.

 

Omaha means a forty-five minute layover and dinner. It's late, Claire's worn out, but her stomach has been growling for the last hour; the SlimJims are long gone. Inside the station there's a cafe, sort of, but the sour grease smell turns her away. The ticket agent points her toward a little diner across the street; it's clean, bright, smells good and warm and vaguely familiar. She has a flash of memory: the table in their old dining room, set for dinner; a steaming platter of roasted meat; a pie coming out of the oven. Daddy saying grace, holding her hand, Mom smiling across the table at her. She can't quite choke back a little sob, and she gives the swinging door an extra-hard shove.

The food's pretty good, enough to push the memories out of her head.

 

She's finally figuring out why this trip feels so familiar and so unsettling at the same time. It throws her back into the dark, swampy memory of the last few years, a series of houses that never felt like home. She got a couple of letters from her mother at first, several weeks apart and from different places, but after awhile they stopped coming. Nobody ever told her anything about her mother, the missing-person case, nothing. After awhile one of her foster parents told her new school that the mother was deceased, and that’s all that was ever said. The caseworkers started looking at her like they thought she should quit asking about her mother, just accept that she was an orphan. And then there was a long time of constant moving, rarely sleeping in the same place two nights running, trying to stay ahead of the police and the social service people. Somewhere in there Claire started counting the days to her eighteenth birthday. She may not have a home after that, or any idea where to go or what to do, but she’d be too old for foster care and they’d quit looking for her. She could do what she wanted without anybody standing over her ordering her around. 

She closes her eyes for a minute, and she can see Sam’s kind eyes, see Dean mini-golfing and being a dork, and mostly she sees Castiel looking at her sadly, trying to help her in his awkward, apologetic way, hunching his shoulders like he knows she hates him and thinks he deserves it. 

Except she doesn’t; she finds she doesn’t hate him any more. It's true that she did hate him for a long time. Castiel took her father away, her mother was sure he’d tricked Daddy into accepting him and then didn’t look after him, didn’t protect him when things were dangerous. She blamed him for the loss of both of her parents -- she always knew Amelia left to look for her husband, stolen by the angel. Claire hated him for every day she had to spend in someone else’s home, never a home or a room or a life of her own that wasn’t given grudgingly by complete strangers. When she ran away she was even nursing a vague idea of trying to find him so she could kill him. 

And then she met him. Who knows what he’d been doing all those years, but he wasn’t the same arrogant dick she met in the beginning. He was apologetic, awkward, yeah, and earnest, and almost desperate. And he seemed so sad, trying so hard to be there for her and make up for having destroyed her life -- and somehow she’s ended up feeling sorry for him, even thankful for what he was trying to do. Claire looks over at her open bag. The top of the Grumpy Cat is just visible; she can’t help laughing a little and shaking her head. 

Claire looks back out the window, watching the occasional farmhouse light go by and thinking about little Joey, learning to live in a new place and make new friends and be happy -- and suddenly she’s crying. She hasn’t cried in months, maybe years, but now tears are rolling down her face and soaking the front of her t-shirt. She puts her fist up to her mouth and manages not to sob out loud; she pulls her knees up, feet resting on the seat, and leans her forehead on her knees. The tears just keeping coming, and she lets them, wiping them away with her fingers. Finally she lets out a long sigh and raises her head, turns to look out the window again. 

There’s a long gray line along the horizon; sunrise is not far away. She checks the time on her phone. It’s just after 5am, less than an hour from Sioux Falls and whatever’s going to happen next. Her head’s heavy; she leans it against the window frame and lets her eyes drift shut, the steady rumble of the bus lulling her. 

 

Claire starts awake at the hissing sound of the bus braking and rolling to a stop. Outside in the dim light she can see another bus, a few people milling around, the little station off to one side. She stumbles down the steps and onto the asphalt, moving away from the bus a few steps before she stops and looks around, blinking and suddenly fearful. 

A dark-haired woman with a no-nonsense face approaches her. She’s wearing plaid and workboots, and Claire is reminded of Sam and Dean. The woman gives her a half-grin and stretches out her hand. As she moves forward Claire can see a girl standing behind her, about Claire’s age or maybe a little older. She’s hanging back, glancing over at her occasionally. 

“Hi, Claire, I’m Jody Mills. This is Alex.” She indicates the girl with a motion of her head. “Sam’s told me a little about what happened. I’m so sorry for your loss, honey.” 

Claire sucks in a breath and blows it back out. She’s determined not to cry, but it takes a minute to get hold of herself. “Thanks. Um, I’m, I’m glad to meet you.” She’s nodding and shaking Jody’s hand. She can’t look Jody in the eye for some reason, but it doesn’t seem to bother Jody. She just stands there calmly, holding Claire’s hand and waiting patiently. Finally Claire looks up at her and sees the warm, sympathetic eyes and the kind face, and her own eyes spill over. Just a couple of tears; she wipes them away angrily. Jody smiles. 

“Feel like a hug?” Claire nods mutely, and Jody folds her arms around Claire’s shoulders, holding her close for a moment. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home. Alex, you wanna drive?” 

Alex looks up at Jody, startled. “You mean it?” 

“Sure, gotta practice sometime. Traffic’s pretty quiet, it’s the perfect time and it’ll give me a chance to chat with Claire. Yes, no? Gosh, I can’t believe you’re not jumping at it.” Jody’s holding the keys up in front of her, jingling them and grinning at Alex, who snorts and grabs the keys. 

“You damn right I wanna drive. Thanks.” 

“Language, missy.” They grin at each other, and Claire finds herself smiling too. Jody looks over at her, her eyes softening. 

“Let’s go, then. I feel like a big breakfast, how’s that sound?” She hugs Claire one-armed, and manages to slip Claire’s duffle off her shoulder and onto her own, winking at Claire as she does. The three of them make their way out of the station and off into the morning. As they pull out of the parking lot, Claire turns her head to watch the sun rising through the trees. 

 

_When you're soarin' through the air_  
_I'll be your solid ground_  
_Take every chance you dare_  
_I'll still be there_  
_When you come back down_


End file.
